


secretly, between the shadow and the soul

by MistressofHappyEndings



Series: Poetry in Motion [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Making Out in a London Bookstore, Pablo Neruda's Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofHappyEndings/pseuds/MistressofHappyEndings
Summary: Joe takes Booker to a certain bookstore in London.  Kissing is done, poetry is bought, inspiration is ... inspired.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Surprise Bonus Couple
Series: Poetry in Motion [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923037
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	secretly, between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

> Joe finally gets to spend some time with Booker!
> 
> Surprise bonus couple is probably not so surprising, but I think Joe and Booker would be delighted to know that they inspired a couple so much older than themselves. Everyone has a good night tonight!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe feels eyes on him, and he smiles. The weight of the stare isn’t threatening, just heavy and intense, and he knows it can belong to only one man. Well, it could belong to another as well, but he’s not allowed to think of that one in this moment, even if he’s never really far from his thoughts. But the owner of the intense stare is also constantly on his mind these days, a new but precious part of him that he never wants to be without, and today is for him and him alone. 

He looks up to find Booker’s gaze upon him as expected, the dark eyes bright with a complex mix of emotions that takes Joe a few moments to sort out. Hmm, maybe Nile had a point when she argued that they needed to spend more time with the younger man. If this was Nicky, he’d have no problem … no, he’s not thinking of him right now. He focuses on Booker and tries to decipher the look in his eyes. Love, adoration, those are easy to spot, but underneath that is a bit of trepidation and uncertainty, and, no, that can absolutely not be tolerated. He shoves the book in his hand carelessly back onto the shelf and swiftly crosses to the end of the aisle where Booker is standing. 

He doesn’t care that they are in a public place, that there are other customers roaming the aisles, not to mention the odd little shop owner himself. Joe is consumed with the immediate need to make any uncertainty vanish from those beautiful green eyes, banish it forever. Booker is loved, as much a part of his heart, his soul, as Nicky, it doesn’t matter that this love is new. He will do whatever it takes to make sure his younger lover feels it. He takes Booker’s face between his palms. He looks up at Booker, and Booker looks back, and everything else – the London rain tapping against the roof, the musty smell of old books, the clatter of the traffic outside – fades away as they merely gaze into each other’s eyes. 

Finally, Joe cannot hold back any longer, and he whispers, “Can I have a kiss?” 

For a second, Joe thinks he sees tears pricking at his lover’s eyes, but the moment passes, and Booker nods. Joe leans in and kisses him, and it is so soft, and so tender, and so filled with all the love he has for the man standing before him now, that Joe feels tears prickling at his own eyes as well. He blinks them back when he feels Booker’s hands reach for him in turn, one settling at the small of his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck as the younger man tilts his head to fit their mouths more perfectly together. 

They get lost in each other’s caresses, not sparing a millimeter of space between them. Both of them have perfected the art of breathing around kisses, so there is no need to pull away for air, no need to separate at all, and so they don’t. They sway gently to a dance of their own making and let the world around them carry on as it willed. 

When they eventually do part, Joe only moves as far back as needed to search Booker’s eyes. The love and adoration are still there in the emerald depths, but, he is happy to note, the uncertainty is no longer present. Joe is far too aware that one make-out session in the back aisle of a bookstore isn’t enough to banish decades of Booker’s fears, but he now knows what to watch for, and he will be just as generous with his kisses and his heart when the next situation arises and all the times in between. 

Smiling softly, Joe circles his arms around Booker’s neck and runs the tip of his nose against his whiskered cheek. “My sweet Bastien, I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Joe,” he hears whispered back. If Booker’s voice sounds a little choked, Joe’s not going to be the one to point it out. 

Joe turns his head to press his lips to the hinge of Booker’s jaw. “Did you want to keep shopping or are you ready to go home?” 

Booker hmms and holds up the hand that had been at Joe’s back. Joe hadn’t felt it earlier, but Booker has been clutching a slender volume the entire time they’ve been standing in their solitary corner. He plucks the book from Booker’s unresisting fingers and turns it over to read the title. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he looks back up at Booker. The other man is watching him with a slight blush and desire dark eyes. 

“Pablo Neruda?” Joe practically purrs, stepping flush to Booker’s body once more. “My favorite.” 

“I know,” Booker smirks and takes the book back from him. He leans down to steal a kiss from willing lips. “I thought I could read it to you once we got home.” 

“ _Just_ read it to me?” 

“Well, and maybe see how it _inspires_ you.” 

“Inspires me?” Joe pushes Booker back against a bookcase and kisses him as filthily as he could. They are both panting when he pulls back. “Come, Bastien, _ya amar_ , let’s buy your book and go home, and I will show you all the ways a beautiful man reading love poetry to me _inspires_ me.” 

*** 

Too lost in each other, neither immortal noticed when a red-haired man slinked his way past them on their way out the door. A slender eyebrow rose above the stylish pair of sunglasses as he sauntered over to the bookshop owner and threw his arm over the rounded shoulders. 

“You actually let them buy a book? I’m shocked, angel, absolutely shocked.” He shook his head in mock incredulity before a wide grin crossed his narrow features. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

The blond man turned into the one-armed embrace and smiled sweetly up at his best half. “Oh, my dear, it was a gift born out of profound love from one to the other. That kind of love between humans is so rare these days. How could I refuse?” 

“Such a sap, but you’re my sap,” the other man said indulgently, rubbing his pointed nose against the snub, upturned one. “So, what book did you let them buy?” 

“A very nice volume by Pablo Neruda.” 

“Hmm, very inspiring, that.” 

A slow, delighted smile spread across the blond man’s face. “Yes, quite.” 

“I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire,” the redhead quoted in a low, sultry voice, causing the smaller man to shiver. He starts moving them back to the stairway that leads up to their bedroom. “I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul …” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,  
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries  
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,  
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose  
from the earth lives dimly in my body. 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
I love you directly without problems or pride:  
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,  
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,  
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,  
so close that your eyes close with my dreams. 

~Pablo Neruda


End file.
